Notes on the Sky Falling Down
by toujourspurPAL
Summary: Regulus's life, from the first train ride to his death. Death Eater moments, Nazi moments, and a whole lot of random depressing moments. RegulusOC. Girl OC, if you were wondering. Prequel to Bellacine Black: Prisoner of Azkaban. R&R, make me optimistic!
1. Chapter 1 Supernova

_You know who this is. You know, we all know._

_A little black notebook that he wrote in over the years, a little glance into his life, a little story. Come with me if you like._

_I'll show you something._

_

* * *

_

we had no voice 

_we had no name_

_we had no choice_

_we had one face_

_one face the same_

_-The Penelopeiad, Margaret Atwood_

* * *

He closed the small black notebook for the last time. It would never be opened again…there it would lie, the thin parchment dissolving in water…ink running, clouding around it like blood….

He didn't dare open it for one final glance at his own words, didn't dare remember what had passed him by… life had always passed him by, a younger son, just what society expected of him… and he'd had one grand chance to do something worth remembering, and he'd blown it all, walked a path that too many walked, too many walked without even knowing they walked it. They never knew, they never had known. They never realized what was at stake…by that time they'd sold their soul to the devil; they were too far in to ever turn back.

There wasn't even a reason he was here. No reason at all…if only he could turn around, forget what he knew, forget what the elf told him… Christ, how could he? He knew. He knew. And no one else would, in all probability. No one would ever find a cave by the sea, no one would ever look at the lake, no one would ever cross the Rubicon and keep on crossing rivers, because they wouldn't know.

They wouldn't know. No one. He had a life beyond this, yet as much as he hated this he knew it was more his life than anything. Rocella was there, somewhere out there, but she had to come second to this, because he couldn't tell anyone anything. He had forbidden the elf to tell. He would vanish like the wind, blow away in a gust of summer and die here. This was his life.

He had a Dark Mark on his arm, he had little blue numbers on his arm, he was one of a litany of numbers, and each number was another Marked man, waiting for the metaphorical crematorium. A green snake protruding from the skull overlaying a yellow star in his mind over a scrawled black spider-like shape over a single word.

_Toujours_.

It was even beyond the _pur_ now, past anything but that one word that dictated most of his life.

_Always_.

Always, and never forget, because the moment we do the sky falls down and another fanatic has his moment and the world goes supernova and he was going supernova here too, he was dying and there wouldn't be anything left afterwards but a little black notebook and a Black hole.

* * *

A/N: Well, I realize this is a bit random but here it is, essentially Regulus's journal. This bit you just read isn't, that's just a last-moments sort of thing. The rest will be chapters of his actual life... and I have another story out there about his daughter Bellacine, and this is made to fit in with that, he marries the same person, etc.

Please review! See the nice box down there in the left-hand corner? Good. Click. On. The. Box. Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2 Pride

**He stood in front of the cave, wind whipping his dark hair away from his face, the house-elf at his side. Like an old man who already had seen too much of the world, he slowly walked through the veil of darkness at the opening of the cave, entering it like prey willingly walking into the mouth of a great sea monster. Inside it was darker than midnight- an eerie darkness- and he wished he could go back, that he never knew what was inside the beast.**

_

* * *

_

Pride cometh before a fall 

_-proverb_

* * *

"Goodbye, Regulus." Orion clapped his son on the back; glancing over the boy's dark head, he saw the face of his other child. "Sirius." 

Sirius glared at his father for a moment before spinning around and stalking off towards where the train waited like a red, fiery dragon. Regulus winced. Gryffindor colors, not a good sign. Ever since Sirius had sent a short letter home from Hogwarts- year before last- saying "I'm in Gryffindor. See you next summer," did Regulus long to be in Slytherin. He would be a good Black. He would make his parents proud.

Orion looked down at his son again. "Make us proud," he whispered. The boy turned around and took a step forward to the Hogwarts Express. A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, and he froze. "_Toujours pur,"_ his father said, and Regulus ran to catch up with the taller boy

Regulus followed his older brother onto the train. He paused at the door between compartments, wondering if he should follow Sirius or not. Just then, Sirius stuck his head out the right-hand side compartment door. "Go _away_, Regulus. Go make your own friends." When Regulus hesitated, Sirius continued on: "Go. I don't want anything to do with you; don't talk to me; don't bother my friends. Go find some pureblood to hang out with, but as far as I'm concerned, _I'm not your brother here_. You hear?"

Regulus nodded slowly, his face slowly draining of emotion. "Fine. Fine. I'm going." He turned away from the other boy whose face so resembled his own and whispered to himself, "Blood traitor." Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus saw Sirius glaring at him, but both boys decided it wasn't worth it to argue. "Fine," said Regulus one last time. "If you're not my brother here, you're not a Black."

"Good. Now GO AWAY!" Sirius disappeared inside the compartment and Regulus went through the door on the left. Inside was a boy who looked about his age, with brownish- blond hair and dark eyes.

"Hello," Regulus said uncertainly.

"Hello," the boy responded. "Are you in first year?"

Regulus nodded slowly. "Why?"

"I am too, but so far I haven't seen anyone else who is. Just some prefect with white hair and a boy with glasses." The boy glanced at Regulus. "What house do you think you'll be in? My father was in Ravenclaw but I- I want to be Slytherin."

Regulus slowly relaxed. "Me too. About the houses, I mean. My mum and dad were in Slytherin but my older brother- oh, nevermind."

"No, really, what? He- he is _our kind_, isn't he? I mean, he's a wizard, right?"

"Of _course_ he is, what did you expect? It just doesn't stop him from being the world's biggest blood traitor there is. He ended up in Gryffindor, of all places!"

The other boy smiled. "Say, what's your name? I'm Bartemius- well, Barty, don't call me Bartemius- Crouch."

"Bartemius Crouch? _Crouch_? You know him?" Regulus was amazed.

"He's my dad. So who are you anyways?"

"Regulus Black."

"Christ- _Black_?" Barty stood up. "Wow. Black. I've heard about your brother- umm, Cyrus? I see what you mean about the blood traitor thing."

"Sirius. Like the star. It's in Canis Major; Regulus is a star in Alpha Leo." Regulus was embarrassed to talk about his brother, but at least Barty didn't seem ready to judge him because he had a Gryffindor in his family. Barty smiled again and gestured at the seat across from him.

"Sit. Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"Eh- no," said Regulus, wondering if he had missed something.

"Oh, well, Dad always has it with him so I read it sometimes. But anyways- did you see the front page? They say _he_'s struck again." Barty's face glowed with a wild fervor.

"Who?"

"Christ, don't you know? They're calling him the Dark Lord, but he calls himself Lord Voldemort. He wants to get rid of the muggles and mudbloods, put purebloods back in their rightful place, you know what I mean?"

"I do actually," said a cool voice from the doorway. "So did a very nice man by the name of Adolf Hitler. Have you seen my brother anywhere?" The speaker was a girl about Regulus's age with white-blonde hair and cold grey eyes. Regulus was thrown for a moment; the sudden change of topic having knocked him off balance- he didn't even know who this Hitler man _was_, but he responded anyway.

Regulus said seeing as he didn't even know who she was; it would be hard to tell if he'd ever seen her brother in his life. She grinned- it really wasn't much of a wide grin, but the way her face seemed to smile along with her lips and the coolness of her features seemed to make it appear happier than it was. She had a look on her face like someone who knew too much of the world to know it was black and white, but all variations of grey; she looked like someone who knew what hatred was but still knew that life was beautiful for all its cruelty.

"My name's Rocella, Rocella Malfoy," she said. Regulus watched her go, something inside him knowing it wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

A few hours later, he watched her sit down next to Barty Crouch and him at the Slytherin table, hoping his brother wasn't glowering at him this very moment, half-hoping he would. Regulus would make his parents proud.

* * *

I don't think this was as good as the first chapter, but it will get better again. I NEED MORE QUOTES, PEOPLE!! A little help here! 

Anyway, sorry if I don't update this very often cos for some reason I am only able to write this at a computer, and I'm in high school, people... Please be totally awesome and review this!!


	3. Chapter 3 Mirror

**It was so dark…he kept on anyways knowing that the end was near- it made him want to turn back a final time but it helped him walk on, knowing that death was only a few steps away. Soon he could give up and sleep in peace. Sleep forever in peace. **

**"Master Regulus? This is the wall," came an old, creaky voice near his side. He couldn't see anything here and didn't want to use magic for light…it seemed a denial of why he was here, even though he knew magic was merely magic, it was not good nor evil, only something that could change the world…no, the only evil that he knew was truly evil was his master, his lord, his leader-**

**He stumbled over a stone on the damp ground. Kreacher caught his arm and he didn't fall, but hit his head on a wall only a few paces in front of him- he raised a hand to his temple and felt blood, it dripped into his eye and for a moment the darkness was tinged blood-red and for a moment black and red mingled together like a spider-like cross on white on red- he knew all too well--**

**And slowly, slowly, the wall pulled back as a stage curtain and he saw a great cavern with a black lake, and in the center of the lake, a mass of ghastly green light, like a dark aurora. He never saw the northern lights. Rocella had once, she told him, but he was going to die without ever knowing the sky. And suddenly that seemed so wrong, that he could see so much in the world in the way of darkness, only to never see lights brighten the night sky. And he felt the magical chill of the place and looked at the lake he would have to cross- oh, how he wished it could be like the Lethe and he would merely need drink to forget his life. He knew what was in the center of that lake and he had to die to bring it down. How he wished it were not like a lake of death, how he wished to turn around and leave, but that lake would be his death, and countless thousands before him, as impossible to number as the stars-**

**He remembered Rocella kissing him goodbye when he left the old house at Grimmauld Place; her voice whispering in his ear, "Come back safe, Regulus." She thought his Mark was burning on his arm, thought he had to leave for a meeting. And he had turned to her and whispered, "I'll keep coming back until the sky falls down, no Order's ever going to stop me from coming back."** _And she never would know anything about this night_**, he thought there in the cave, while Kreacher tugged at his sleeve and pointed to the boat. She would never know, not ever, and in the end she'd still be hoping for the impossible to return, hope flaring like a candle at every noise in the great, empty, old house.**

** Forever in peace (not), forever waiting, until the day that she died. She wouldn't have long to wait. **

* * *

_Sail, and sail, on the billowing wave-_

_The water below is as dark as the grave_

_And maybe you'll sink in your little blue boat_

_It's hope, and hope only, that keeps us afloat_

_-The Penelopiad, Margaret Atwood_

* * *

Regulus groaned aloud when Barty handed him the scroll. "Not again," he muttered. "I really do think I'm starting to hate him." The scroll was another invitation to Professor Slughorn's infamous Slug Club. Infamous among students, at the very least. Get an Outstanding on one too many Potions assignments, and you were stuck. Regulus and Barty were both summoned to the second meeting in their first year, when the professor realized two of his best students were the son of the head of the Auror Department- and a very likely candidate for the next Minister of Magic, and a nice, normal Black who ended up in Slytherin like most of his family. Rocella managed to avoid his notice by generally spacing out during Potions; Slughorn loved the sound of his own voice so much he really didn't seem to care if anyone listened.

Now three years later, the Slug Club had extended to include several Slytherins, a few Ravenclaws, and two Hufflepuffs. Thankfully, Sirius was in detention so often that Slughorn gave up on him ever coming to a meeting. Regulus wasn't so lucky. Not that he ever intended to follow in his brother's footsteps. As Barty said, when they finally found the Dark Lord, they would be rewarded. They alone would be loyal.

"Do you actually think we're going to that?" asked Barty. "Are you insane? We're going to look for the Dark Lord; we're going to find him someday, I know it, I really do. Black and Crouch- he couldn't turn us down." With a look at Rocella, he added, "You too. Rocella Malfoy… oh, god. Malfoy- Black- Crouch- we'd be the greatest Death Eaters the world's ever seen. We'd be famous- every wizard alive would know who we were… just like the Dark Lord. This is my point. We're looking for him tonight." Barty stopped walking in front of a mirrored wall on the fourth floor. "And this is how we're getting out."

He tapped the wall once and it slid back at his touch; stepping inside, he gestured to Regulus and Rocella. "Come on. It'll be fine, no one will notice we're gone until late tonight at the soonest, and by then we'll be well out of Hogsmeade."

Regulus almost took a step forward but then paused when Rocella began to speak. "No. No, I'm not going. You can go- I won't try to stop you- but I'm staying out of this. Don't you realize what he's doing? He's creating some sort of- of master race; this Dark Lord is Hitler all over again. All the purebloods are mad because after Grindelwald, what did they get? Nothing, absolutely nothing, we were forced farther into hiding than ever before. Now someone comes who says he'll make us great again- well, at what cost? Kill all the muggles just because they're muggles, just because we want someone to blame for everything that's gone wrong in the past twenty years? Kill them all off just because we think we're a superior race? No." Rocella glared at Barty; they both watched Regulus to see whom he would side with this time. Regulus hesitated, and then took a step towards where Barty stood just inside the wall of mirrors.

Barty smiled triumphantly. "This is where you are dead wrong, Rocella. You're smarter than most, but you're still fallible." He leaned in towards her. "They aren't like us. They just aren't… human. They're just muggles; they really aren't the same as us. It's like monkeys: close as they are to being like us, there's a difference. And in this case, the difference isn't evolution, it's magic." He shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world to say

Rocella stared at him, shocked and a little amazed, Regulus thought, until her eyes left Barty and found him. "Surely you don't hold with this…this…idiocy," she whispered, faintly yet fiercely. Nervously, he ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm going, why don't you come along, you don't have to join up, just…." Regulus looked at her hopefully, but she turned away and he followed Barty down the passageway of mirrors that he hardly dared to look at, lest they reflect his soul.

A reflection of a soul behind dark grey; he hardly knew anything beyond the physical existed. Regulus Black was not concerned with souls. Souls were for lesser...souls...than he. He followed Barty on through life, Rocella always leaving. Knowing when to leave, retaining some form of sanity. Always.

_Toujours_.

Always.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Rocella wore a yellow star on the collar of her school robes, and he loved her for it. Regulus might have actually kissed her, then and there, in front of the entire school, if Barty wasn't watching.

* * *

Well, keep reviewing, etc., etc., and I hope you don't get tired of Hitler cos I tend not to shut up once I get my chance! 


	4. Chapter 4 Ash

**The boat shook under him in something like a tide, a tide in an unnatural lake. Kreacher, pulling on his sleeve, begged him to sit, but Regulus knew this boat wouldn't tip over, capsize, no, drowning would come later. He stared over the boat into eerie, dark water. A farmer, his blue flannel shirt torn at one elbow, lay facedown, still in death. A wizard dressed in robes so destroyed by the water it was impossible to tell their color rested next to the farmer.**

**A baby, brown hair barely covering his or her head so he could see the ridges of bone that would never become a skull, slept on its side with one fist curled near the child's mouth.**

**A woman, appearing to be around twenty, face up, long blonde hair waving, swooping, gliding around her face forever, eyes covered with slightly translucent eyelids, pale skin like a seraphim. **

"**No," he whispered hoarsely, feeling as if his voice hadn't been used in ten thousand years. "Rocella. No." He felt too sick to scream. Even though it obviously wasn't her, his heart had momentarily stopped when he saw the corpse that looked so much like his wife. **

**And then he knew what he must do, to protect her.**

**On the little island's pebbly shore, he knelt at Kreacher's eye level; took one of the house-elf's gnarled hands in his. **

"**Kreacher. What I am about to tell you, you must never tell to anyone. If someone orders you to tell, I order you not to. There is a locket in that basin, and I want you to take it home to Grimmauld Place and destroy it. I am going to drink that potion. **

"**When I do, I think it shall drive me mad, but whatever I say, do not listen to me. You will have to give that potion to me to drink, I won't be able to do so myself. If I tell you to stop giving it to me, do not obey. Don't punish yourself, either.**

"**Now, Kreacher, you can never tell anyone in the family what happens here. If Rocella knows, one thing will lead to another, and they will most likely kill her. I want her to survive; I don't want my child to grow up an orphan. You can never tell the child, either, nor my brother," –his voice broke here like a winter's morning- "nor Bellatrix, nor Narcissa. No one, Kreacher, do you understand me?"**

**Kreacher paused, then looked up at his master.**

"**Kreacher wants to know- is Master Regulus coming home?"**

"**No, Kreacher. I'm going home for all eternity. Or to hell. I really don't know if there's a god anymore or if there's really a difference or if it could ever matter in a place like this. Maybe we're all in hell and we just don't know it because we're too self-obsessed to look beyond a first impression." He choked on fear. "If this is hell, I suppose it's that sort of way to die. Even Auschwitz sounds better now. Even Mauthausen. There I'd be remembered." **

**The elf bowed and nodded, confused, but he did not question Regulus. "Kreacher will do what Master Regulus wishes, because Master Regulus is good- and kind- and brave- and Kreacher respects the dignity of pure blood."**

"**Thank you," Regulus whispered, and together they walked to the island's center, where poison and souls and certain death waited.**

* * *

"_As its blood witnesses, may they shine forever, a glowing example to the followers of our movement."_

_-Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler_

* * *

He was eight years old and staring at Bellatrix's forearm. She was nineteen, already married to some pureblood whose name he could never remember, and she had murder written on her skin.

"Do you know what that is?" she asked, very quietly.

Regulus shook his head, black hair falling in his eyes.

She smiled thinly, proudly. "It's the Dark Mark. Do you know what that means?"

He shook his head again.

"It means I made the right choices. It means I'm not alone. It means I never will be alone; and neither will anyone else with this on their arm. You make the right choices too and someday- someday you'll be one of us, and you'll never be alone, and you'll live forever, because this is going to put the purebloods back where they belong. One simple choice, Regulus, _Toujours pur, _and there will always be others who'll be there with you, for you."

* * *

Now he was sixteen, kneeling on cold marble at the house of some Death Eater who wasn't receiving any suspicious glances from the Ministry yet, and that Mark was becoming _part of him._

It burned. It really, really burned. Barty once showed him the Cruciatus Curse on a stray cat. Watching the animal in his mind's eye, he thought this must hurt more.

He wouldn't scream.

He wouldn't scream.

Finally the snake and skull emblem was complete; Regulus shakily rose to his feet. Nott poured out wine the color of blood into a shining silver goblet, and they all drank from it. It was the first time he had ever tasted wine; it was so bitter he had to force himself not to spit it back out.

Rocella would probably make some joke about First Communion that he wouldn't understand when school started again but Regulus didn't care, because now he was one of them. Barty was too. Barty hadn't even flinched at the Dark Mark. He was probably going to end up a better Death Eater than Regulus would ever be.

There was a knock at the door. All eyes turned to the Dark Lord, who nodded once at Nott. (It was his house, after all.)

Nott opened the door. His wife stood on the threshold.

"There's a man downstairs who says he's here for the meeting. Says his name is Lucius Malfoy."

"Send him up," said the Dark Lord. Nott left the door open and crossed to the opposite wall where he had stood. The room had the atmosphere that of slightly before a trial, waiting for the prisoner to walk in.

"My Lord," gasped Lucius Malfoy, out of breath, dropping to his knees.

The Dark Lord regarded him for a moment before speaking: "You are very late, Lucius. What reason have you?"

"I- My Lord- It's a boy-" he stammered. "It's- the baby- it's a boy- we've named him Aldebaran, after my grandfather- My Lord- forgive me-"

The Dark Lord stared into Malfoy's terrified grey eyes before finally nodding, as if he had searched for truth and found it there. "Very well. I see we shall not accomplish anything tonight. Stand up, Lucius. Don't stare at the floor like a coward." His voice dropped to a serpentine hiss on the last syllables; Malfoy stood up slowly and bowed.

The other Death Eaters gathered around Malfoy, congratulating him. Eventually he broke away, a glass of wine in his hand, and stood near Regulus.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Here, have a glass of wine."

"I'm sixteen, Mr. Malfoy."

"Lucius. We're- coworkers, in a word, now. You're old enough to have that"-he pointed to Regulus's left arm-"you're old enough to drink. Cissy says hello."

"How is she?"

"Good, good. I had to leave for this, but I think she's fine now."

"I think you got off lucky." Regulus meant in terms of the Dark Lord and they both knew it.

Lucius frowned slightly, concerned. "Do you think he's angry?"

"He doesn't look like he cares. Maybe he's in a good mood tonight." They both watched the Dark Lord for a few moments. Bellatrix stood in front of him, hanging on his every word, her eyes filled with awe. And fear, though she hid it well.

"You like her, don't you?" Lucius asked suddenly.

"For crissake, she's my _cousin_. Are you insane?"

"I wasn't talking about her, I meant my sister."

"Oh." Regulus had no idea how Lucius could tell, he doubted Rocella even noticed the way he looked at her. "I guess so. I mean, yeah. Yeah, I, I do."

Lucius smiled. "I thought so." He paused and turned minutely away from Regulus. "Look, Black- Regulus- oh, hell, I don't know how to say this. Just- she's my sister- you watch yourself. You don't- you don't do anything to my sister."

Regulus turned slightly red. "I know that. I didn't say anything to you when you married my cousin."

"You were eleven when I married Narcissa. If any eleven-year-old tried to tell me something like that I'd laugh my head off. Besides, that's different."

Barty walked over to the corner where they stood. "Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy." Then he whispered to Regulus, "See? I told you. We've got the world at our feet." He chuckled triumphantly.

Regulus felt sick.

* * *

He looked at the Dark Mark on his arm every few minutes on the walk home from Nott's place. It wasn't burning anymore but his arm was still sore.

Emerald-green eyes glinted, a ruby blood drop fell from the serpent's mouth. The skull was ash-black, not the slightly ashy grey of Rocella's eyes, a grey that was more the color of sky before winter sunrise, but like burnt bone: grey so deep and terrifying black becomes it.

He thought of crematoriums in Europe Rocella had told him of, discovered after the battles were over and the obstacles of the Final Solution almost obliterated.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

* * *

A/N: Anyway, sorry it took me so long to update, I was on vacation and then getting my wisdom teeth pulled…. Ok, that was somewhat random cos I had to cram a bunch of stuff in there but too bad, deal with it.

No, I never read _Mein Kampf_; I have better things to do than read Nazi propaganda. I just saw the quote somewhere.

If you were wondering how old everyone is, Lucius and Narcissa are both six years older than Regulus, Bellatrix is eleven years older. This is according to the family tree JKR made.

I also invented Aldebaran(it's the name of a star in...thinking...Taurus) cos I felt like it. And Draco wouldn't be born yet. 

Rocella is Lucius's younger sister, same year as Regulus, I completely invented her. Just in case you were wondering.

PREVIEW NEXT CHPTR: I get to quote _Gone With the Wind_. Mwhahaha. Don't ever bother watching the movie. It's idiotic, I'm dead serious. No pun inteneded... actually, pun intended.


	5. Chapter 5 Murderer

**He falls down hard on his knees, on the pebbly shore because right now his Mark is burning like hell and he _cannot_ coward out and Apparate to his master's side. He knows that's the only way to make it stop. But he's had that Mark for almost three years now and he can sometimes ignore the pain.**

**When Rocella is in his arms, he can sometimes ignore everything in the universe except her beautiful eyes. They are beautiful like sky. His eyes are also grey, but they are the color of factory fumes. They remind him of his soul.**

**He doesn't deserve beauty.**

**Trying not to think of what he's left behind, he takes a bit of parchment out of the pocket of his robes and a self-inking quill that he shoved in his pocket last night. Regulus wonders if what he's about to do constitutes a suicide note and actually considers smiling.**

**That's another thing he rarely is able to do.**

**The note to the Dark Lord is brief, evasive. Regulus almost signs his name with a flourish but holds back and instead writes only his initials in jagged, soulless script. The frail parchment folds easily and he grips it in his left hand, muscles closing convulsively around the paper in pain.**

**He reaches into his robes for Rocella's locket.**

_Look at the night_

_And it don't seem so lonely,_

_We fill it up with only two_

_And when I hurt,_

_Hurting runs off my shoulders_

_How can I hurt when holding you?_

_-"Sweet Caroline" Neil Diamond_

* * *

His Mark is burning like hell right now and he knows what it means: the time has come, tonight. Time to prove his worth. Regulus hurries through the empty school corridors. It is late in the evening on a cold November night and no one should be around to see him leave- 

"Regulus, wait!"

He pauses mid-stride because that's Rocella's voice and he wants to stop and talk, but the Mark is something he can't fight right now.

"Regulus! Wait up!"

He slows down, half turns around, but the second he stops walking the Dark Mark sears, and he keeps going.

Rocella is very close behind him, he can sense her there, then she's immediately behind him and he stops, forcing himself to ignore the pain. He looks at her over his shoulder and she steps around him to stand directly before him.

"Regulus, I've wanted to tell you this for a while now, and, well, I finally decided to. Regulus, I – er," she bites her lip nervously and he thinks how wonderful it would be to kiss her.

Sometime when his arm doesn't hurt like crazy, though, not tonight, someday he can ignore the rest of the world for five minutes and he'll kiss her. It's hard to think straight when his arm feels like it's about to fall off because it's burning up.

"I really like you," she says quietly, and his heart starts pounding. All he can manage to say through the pain is "Oh."

She blinks in shock, that's not what she expected to hear, and her voice is colder than it's ever been when she says, "Do you even care?"

He can't think of anything to say that matters, anything that could tell her he _does_ care, anything to say that he can't care right now- god, it hurts, it hurts, it burns- "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Regulus turns around and walks away. He doesn't have to look at her to know how much it hurts, because it hurts him too.

* * *

Mr. Malfoy- Lucius, he corrects himself- is standing outside the gates of school. He looks up at Regulus's approaching footsteps and raises an eyebrow. "Took you long enough."

"I had to- sorry."

"Whatever. Just hurry up next time, I can't afford to stand here all night." Lucius seems different, harsher, bitterer. Older.

"Where are we going?"

"Place in Wales. Edgar Bones- he's a blood traitor, married some mudblood. Nee Ziegler, don't know her first name. Two sons, Joshua and Christopher."

"And?" says Regulus, who knows there has to be more.

"Order of the Phoenix."

"So what are we supposed to do?"

"What do you think, Black? Sell them Girl Scout cookies? Look, the less filth like that there is in the world, the better. We're Apparating out- Side-Along for you; take my arm- as soon as we get the signal."

Regulus says, "What's the signal?" rather nervously. Even though he joined up three months ago, this is his first raid. He doesn't know what to expect.

"You'll feel it," says Lucius, and a second later unbearable pain shoots through his arm and Lucius drags them forward into viselike darkness.

_

* * *

CRACK_

Two figures appear on the narrow street in southern Wales; in an instant, they are drenched in the pouring rain. Lucius pulls the hood of his black cloak over his head and Regulus follows suit. Together they march towards a little one-story house on the corner.

Lucius mounts the creaky staircase first, Regulus behind him, and simultaneously they pull out wands from the pocket of their cloaks.

Lucius knocks on the door, once. No one answers. A light in the kitchen flickers, flares out.

He raps again, harder. This time when the house remains silent, he jabs the doorknob hard with his wand and the door crashes open. The entryway is deserted, dark, yet there's a breath of smoke on the air, as if a candle were only just extinguished. Lucius calls out, "Bones! We want a word!" but there's no answer.

Regulus steps through the hallway into the little kitchen. It seems deserted until he glances downward.

There's a little boy, maybe three years old, cowering under the table.

They stare at each other for an eternity of seconds.

"Where's Daddy?" asks Joshua or Christopher.

"I don't know. Who else is in the house?" asks Regulus. How can he hate a boy this young, even if he is a half-blood? How is he supposed to kill this little child?

Lucius stomps up the stairs, there's several loud yells and a chorus of pounding footsteps and he comes into the kitchen, a man, woman, and child held at wandpoint before him.

"Them," the little boy answers, and the woman gasps and dives under the table.

"Oh Joshua! Joshua! Thank God you're safe!"

"Get up," snarls Lucius.

Mr. Bones says, "Joshua, come to me. Claire, come here," with terror on his face. The other boy- Christopher- looks up at his father and Bones hides the fear on his face. "Not them, take me instead. Take me instead, not them, not my family. Let them go, they haven't done anything wrong."

Lucius whispers to Regulus without turning around, "Kill him."

"I don't know how," he replies, trying not to think.

Lucius swears at Regulus under his breath. "Then watch and learn." He takes careful aim, arm steadily pointing towards Claire Bones. "_Avada Kedavra,_" he says very calmly, and she falls to the floor, dead.

Regulus says the words too and Bones falls over, and the two little boys rush to their father.

"Daddy! What did you do to my daddy?"

"Lucius," says Regulus desperately, "what am I supposed to do? I can't kill innocent-"

"They're half-bloods, filthy half-bloods. They're not innocent." Lucius reminds him sharply, and Regulus watches Christopher fall, hardly aware that he's the one killing.

"Both of them, Black," Lucius reminds him with one eye on the kitchen clock.

Regulus realizes that Lucius doesn't give a damn that three people- soon to be four- have just died. "Don't you _care_, Lucius? How can you watch this- how can you _do _this- you have a wife and son, how can you-?"

"I have no son," Lucius says, and he turns to Regulus with unfathomable misery in his eyes. "He is dead. He died yesterday. Now- for the love of god, Black- KILL HIM!"

Regulus says two alien words. Joshua collapses, dead. Joshua is a three- year- old boy who never hurt anyone. Regulus is a murderer.

_Murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer-_

"SHUT UP!" screams Regulus.

"I didn't say-" begins Lucius.

_Murderer murderer murderer murderer-_

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" he screams again. Dead eyes the color of wood taunt him.

Lucius grabs Regulus by the shoulders and slams him against a wall. "No one is saying anything. You did what you were supposed to do. You did it well. Now go back to Hogwarts- take a sleeping potion- in the morning it'll all be over," he hisses in a low whisper.

Lucius relaxes his grip and Regulus jerks free, starts to leave this house of death-

"Where do you think you're going?" Lucius says. "Your kill. You set off the Mark."

Regulus shouts "_Morsmordre!" _with his wand pointed to the sky and a skull-and-snake emblem stares back at him.

They both Apparate away, quickly, before anyone knows they were there. Edgar Bones and his family will not serve as witnesses.

Dead people don't talk.

* * *

The common room is dark but the smoldering fire still burns in the fireplace. Regulus shakes his arm- it's not burning anymore, but it's a little stiff- and steps in front of the fire.

"Regulus," says Rocella. She's sitting in one of the armchairs behind him now; he ignores her. "Regulus, where were you tonight?"

"Doesn't matter," he mutters.

Rocella whispers, "Oh, but I think it does matter."

He stiffens and spits out, "Fine. Fine, you asked for it. I went to a house where a family lived- parents, two children- and I killed the man and his two sons and I watched his wife die first, and I sent the Dark Mark into the sky."

He waits for her to say the hated word- _Death Eater_- but she is silent.

"I'm a Death Eater and I'm a murderer and I'm a-"

Rocella interrupts him, "And you care. You do care. You're not really a Death Eater, Regulus. You're human."

Regulus whirls around and yanks up the left-hand sleeve of his robes. "Do you see what that is? That's the Dark Mark, Rocella. I _am_ a Death Eater." She probably can't see it from where she sits, five feet away and with the firelight behind him, but she nods.

"Okay. You're a Death Eater."

Silence.

"I'm a murderer. God in heaven, what have I done?"

Rocella stands up. She steps towards him. He steps towards her.

"Maybe you are a murderer. Maybe you aren't. Frankly, _my dear_, I don't give a damn whether-"

Regulus kisses her on the lips, and for a moment he forgets that he's a murderer now.

* * *

A/N:This chapter is for the certain hopeless romantics I have had the misfortune to meet. You know who you are.

I just saw HP and the GoF yesterday. Spent the entire movie alternately laughing at the Durmstrang people and the Death Eaters. (And I'm still laughing.) Honestly, what's up with the DE hoods that look like dunce caps? And does no one at Durmstrang know that the Russian Revolution is over and done with? Seriously, they all act like they wwant to be the next tsar or something. And what's up with the weird stick dance anyway?

And what's up with the tongue flicking thing?


	6. Chapter 6 Burning

**Regulus carefully tucks the paper into the locket. Closes the locket. Hands it to Kreacher. There's a precision about his movements now, a cold clarity that comes with the knowledge of impending death.**

**He stares down into the basin of green poison. He can barely see another locket, much more elaborate than the silver one dangling from his house-elf's knobby hand. Regulus slowly extends a hand to the surface of liquid, but a barrier, like invisible glass, stops his reach. **

**Then, with his hand resting on something he can't see, eyes desperately scanning the cave for a way- **_**any way­**_**- out, it really hits him that **_**he is going to die**_**. Regulus should be used to death by now. He's killed almost three score of mudbloods, of halfbloods, blood traitors, and muggles. All completely worthless, all dead for the sake of the great master race. **

**He is going to die.**

**His name will have a final date under it on the tapestry.**

**He will lie here in this strange lake, unaware, rotting, gone forever.**

**And no one can help him. No one. This is hell, this is dying, and not whatever comes after, because there isn't any 'after.' Regulus wonders how lake water, clogged with Inferi, tastes. **

**He wonders how poison tastes. Worse than the sour taste in his mouth that's always there after murder. More bitter than alcohol. Farther dead than murder tastes. He spits on the shore, trying to rid himself of the flavor of death. It remains. **

**Why did he have to order Kreacher never to tell anyone? Wouldn't it be so much better for Rocella and the baby to at least know what happened? But he can't take it back now. Why did he always have to be so damn noble?**

**Why did he ever do anything? He's just a worthless second son- no, he's not. He is his parents' only son and heir. Regulus is an only child. He never had a brother. Not now, not ever. Never.**

* * *

"_How did it start? How did you get into it? How did you pick your work and how did you happen to pick the job you have? You're not like the others. I've seen a few, I _know_. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last night. The others would never do that. The others would walk off and leave me talking. Or threaten me. No one has time anymore for anyone else. You're one of the few people who put up with me. That's why I think it's so strange that you're a fireman. It just doesn't seem right for you, somehow."_

_- Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury_

* * *

Regulus's late for Defense Against the Dark Arts. What a joke that is. He doesn't need defense. He's going to be perfectly fine, and in a year or two, they'll all be laughing at the mudbloods and the half-bloods and all the idiot blood traitors. Funny how the word 'idiot' crops up so often. Funny how he hates the blood traitors the most. 

He's almost there now, just a few more corridors. Why is Hogwarts so big? It takes forever to get anywhere, and half the time you manage to get there, you're late. Slughorn doesn't care if any of the Slytherins are late, but Professor Gary, who's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and a Ravenclaw, does care. So he starts to run for a few footsteps. Then Regulus wonders why he's bothering to hurry. Damn Gary, damn DADA, damn all those idiots.

A few steps past the Transfiguration classroom, the door opens behind him and someone steps into the hall, presumably a seventh-year that McGonagall just kicked out of class. Then the someone says, very quietly but with a strong hint of menace, "Hello, Reg."

Regulus whirls around. It's Sirius. "Blood traitor. Go to hell," he snarls, and continues walking.

Sirius laughs at him. _Laughs _at him. "Swearing, Reg? Your mother won't be at all happy to hear that.

"Traitor," mutters Regulus again.

"Oh really? To what?" Sirius still sounds amused, and it just incenses Regulus all the more. He strides up to Sirius, glaring at him.

"To _toujours pur_. To our family. You're a useless blood traitor and someday you're going to regret it."

Sirius is still laughing. He says, "You're not my family" so nonchalantly, that Regulus wants to kill him. That he knows how to kill him is the problem, because his self-control is about to give out. Does Sirius even care about them? Even if they aren't his family now, they were.

"Don't you care? Do you not care about anyone but yourself, Sirius?" Regulus stops for a second while Sirius shakes his head once with a cocked-eyebrow 'of course I don't care about you, what did I just say?' look on his arrogant face. "Narcissa had a son last August. You know what happened to him? He died. Did you even know that? And you don't give a damn about your own cousin."

"Neither do you," counters Sirius. "Bellatrix and Narcissa had a sister. Her name was Andromeda and she, unlike you, was not a pureblood-obsessed idiot. She was smart enough to walk out about seven years ago and she hasn't looked back since. She's married and she has a daughter. Did you even know _that_, Reg? No, I forgot, of course you wouldn't know. You look at that tapestry and you never see the burn marks, all you see are the perfect little purebloods that get in Slytherin, marry purebloods, continue on the family name. You're the one that doesn't care. You'd do anything for pure blood, Reg; you'd even join up with the Death Eaters and _murder_ for it." He pauses, half for breath; half because he expects Regulus to say that he'd _never _become a Death Eater.

But Regulus is completely silent, and then Sirius knows.

"You BASTARD!" he shouts, and the next thing Regulus knows, he's lying flat on the ground with blood gushing from his nose. It feels broken- his nose, that is. But the branches of the family tree are breaking too, one by one.

Sirius pulls Regulus to his feet and grabs the left-hand sleeve of his robes. "Tell me you're not one of them, Regulus. Tell me that with a straight face and I swear I'll- I'll- I'll even come back home."

Regulus still says nothing, and Sirius yanks up his sleeve. The Dark Mark stares back at them and Regulus thinks for a few moments that it looks oddly triumphant, burning more vividly than ever before.

"It's not real," Regulus says hurriedly. Life doesn't feel real. "It's…it's just a fake. Barty drew it on in- in Potions, just as a joke, he thought it was…."

"Then surely," says Sirius, "it won't matter if I…touch it?" His finger draws closer and closer to the brand and Regulus hopes it won't count as summoning the Dark Lord. But it will count, and then he'll punish Regulus for not having anything to show for it. He knows how one Unforgivable Curse looks, because he's used it. He knows about another only because he's felt it. He never wants to feel it again.

"DON'T!" Regulus jerks his arm out of Sirius's grip, but Sirius grabs it again and starts to drag him down the corridor.

"You disgust me. Murderer. You're sixteen years old, what on earth are you doing?" He marches Regulus along the hallway and says, "I'm telling Dumbledore. You're coming with me. And don't talk to me. I don't want to know how many people you've killed. I have absolutely no pity for people like you; I couldn't care less if he turns you in and you rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life."

Regulus says, "Sirius, no, please, I'm your brother," desperately, but they're almost to Dumbledore's office.

"No. I am not your brother. You have no brother. I've been trying to impress that on you for long enough, now get it into your head. Besides, I'm sure your dear mum wouldn't want to hear you say that. I don't exist, remember?"

Dumbledore is waiting for them when they get to his office. He silently leads them up the stairs and sits down behind his desk.

"Professor, he's a Death Eater-"

"I am not! He just punched me for no reason, Professor!"

"Professor, look at his arm, the Mark's there-"

"It is not," Professor Dumbledore says calmly. "Regulus is no more a Death Eater than I am, Mr. Black."

_Yes I am_ thinks Regulus.

"Professor, he is! He has the Dark Mark on his arm and everything!"

Regulus starts to mentally apply every swear word he's ever heard to Sirius.

"Sirius, your brother is not a Death Eater." Regulus stares at Dumbledore now. Why is he lying for him?

"HE'S NOT MY BROTHER!" shouts Sirius.

"He still is. Regulus, I am sure, thinks differently. But he has been taught this all his life. Sirius, you, on the other hand, I expected more of. He is still your brother, just as the rest of your family is still your family. You can't pick and choose whatever you like. He doesn't know any better. You do.

"Now run off before you miss another class. Yes, Sirius, I know Professor McGonagall kicked you out of class. I won't give you detention this time."

Sirius glares at them for a few moments before turning sharply and stomping off.

Regulus anxiously chews on his lip. What will Dumbledore do to him now? He watches the old teacher while still staring at the ground; he decides it's safer to talk first.

"You know, Professor, I could kill you," Regulus says, without realizing quite why he just said something that stupid. It's as good as a confession.

"No, you can't," Dumbledore says calmly. "Oh, you think you can. But it's so much easier to kill someone you've never met; someone who you tell yourself would kill you if they could. Yes, Regulus, I know about why you missed detention last November; I know exactly where you were."

He had hoped no one would ever remember that he missed a detention. What was he supposed to do? Walk out on the Dark Lord?

"I've killed other people too, Professor." What the hell is he saying? He's going to wake up tomorrow morning in Azkaban. No one even bothers with trials anymore.

"I know you have. And no, Regulus, I'm not going to turn you in. I want you to read this." He pushes an old paperback book- a _Muggle_ book- across the desk.

Regulus snatches up the book and walks out. Behind him, he hears Dumbledore say- almost to himself- "It's a sad world where children are forced to kill."

_I'm not a child_, he thinks. But he is.

* * *

Going back to the common room, he starts to flip through the book.

'"_Sometimes I'm ancient. I'm afraid of children my own age. They kill each other. Did it always use to be that way?'"_

It's still sinking in, that one awful statement, when he enters the Slytherin common room. The fire is roaring like a monster. He pages through the book again

'_Have reason to suspect attic, 11 No. Elm, City_

_E.B.'_

How'd this Bradbury man know Edgar Bones's address? Because that's what this is. His initials and his house number and his street.

'_He suddenly couldn't remember if he had known this, and it made him quite irritable. _

"_And if you look"—she nodded at the sky—"there's a man in the moon."_

_He hadn't looked for a long time.'_

His heart is beating fast, and, flipping through the pages, he senses someone behind him. Rocella. She wraps her arms around him.

'"_You know, I'm not afraid of you at all. [... But you're just a man, after all."'_

He throws the book onto the fire and watches it burn.

"Am I still allowed to play Mendelssohn?" asks Rocella.

He doesn't reply. He has no idea what she's talking about, no idea that thirty-five odd years ago there were places you couldn't play anything by Mendelssohn, places you couldn't play anything by a Jew.

The book turns to ash.

* * *

A/N: All the quotes are from Fahrenheit 451, very good book that you all ought to read if you haven't already. The Mendelssohn thing I got from all my random books about Nazi Germany. 


	7. Chapter 7 Gethsemane

**The first sip tastes like vinegar. He slowly glances down at the green liquid in his cup again; swallows. It still tastes like vinegar. **

**Kreacher is staring at him, bug-eyed, terrified. **

"**It's okay, Kreacher. It's just…well, whatever it is, it must be…." He trails off as the first icy wave of memory hits him. Freezing memory is falling into his lungs, down his throat, choking him; he can hardly breath.**

**_They're all at the dining room table- Mother, Sirius, and Regulus. He recognizes the scene- it's his fifteenth birthday. No one else in his family is there- Bella and Narcissa are married, their parents, Cygnus and Druella, dead of dragon pox. Father died three years ago that June, but, like he remembers thinking then, it's been three years. They're fine._**

**_Except Sirius. Sirius is sixteen, arrogant, and though Regulus is told differently, he can't help but disagree: Sirius is a much better son. He does things. He's never afraid. Regulus just stands in the shadows, always second best, always the second son. _**

_**Sirius says something without thinking, just like always- Regulus never does find out what. But suddenly Mother is standing, wand pointed at her eldest son's throat, and they're screaming at each other.**_

"**_Take that back now, boy! I've had enough of this foolish thinking! It's those friends of yours…a blood traitor brat and two half-bloods, what else? I should have never let you stay in that blood traitor house- should have packed you off to Durmstrang the first chance we could-"_**

"**_Well, it's true! You're all racist idiots! I'm sick of all you people trying to tell me what I ought to think. I have a mind of my own, Mother, so get over it! And I'm never going to school in some Nazi-"_**

"_**Communist," corrects Regulus, who has picked up a few things of that ilk from Rocella.**_

"**_Communist! Whatever- the point is, you're not sending me to some racist hellhole of a school in a country that's going to get nuked by the Americans any day now, and I say, bloody good for them!" _**

"**_Sirius Orion Black, you go to the parlor this instant! I've had enough of you!" Mother gave up on sending Sirius to his room four years ago, when he started decorating the walls in his own style- and attaching his style with a Permanent Sticking Charm. _**

"_**Moth-"**_

"_**Regulus, go upstairs, I don't want to…." Mother sighs. **_

_**Regulus glances down at his half-empty plate.**_

"_**Now!" **_

_**He rises slowly and goes to his room, only a few feet away from Sirius's. No one remembers that it's his birthday.**_

_**Nobody cares. **_

**Nobody cares. When the memory ends, he dips the goblet into the basin again; he's not ready for another round, but what can he do? Run away? Run away like his brother, the coward, to hell with the family and go do whatever he likes? No. Regulus doesn't really think so. He swallows again, gasping, no time to take a breath.**

_**The next morning, Mother wakes up and realizes Sirius is gone. **_

_**An hour later Regulus finds a letter in his brother's room that reads,**_

**I've had enough. I'm going now, and I doubt I'll ever see any of you any again. I really couldn't care less. Don't bother trying to find me. I want nothing to do with you. All you care about is blood. And I'm not that stupid. That's your job.**

**Sirius**

**_The rest of the letter- what might have been a very eloquent list of curses directed at his family- is obscured by a large inkblot. _**

_**When Regulus shows the letter to Mother, she goes into the parlor, locks the door, and Regulus hears the crash of breaking glass. **_

_**The old family photographs have all been shattered, the photographs themselves ripped apart and tossed on the fire, and the name 'Sirius' blasted off the family tree. **_

**_And nobody cared that Regulus was in a way the only one left, the only star still shining, all alone in the universe._**

_**No. They all laugh at him for having such a blood traitor in the family. What they don't understand is that he's not family.**_

**When Regulus comes to, god knows how much later, he can barely lift his arm. "Kreacher, you promised…" he mutters hoarsely; barely room in his lungs for air.**

"**Master—"**

"**Kreacher, I don't care, pour me another gobletfull. I have to end this somehow…."**

**Kreacher looks from Regulus, to the basin, to the goblet, to Regulus again, to the goblet again. He picks it up and moves toward the basin, muttering under his breath all the while, "Kreacher does not want this cup…let this cup be taken from Kreacher…but not Kreacher's will but Kreacher's Master's will be done."**

* * *

"_To live with fear…is the final test"_

_Edward Weeks_

* * *

It's the day before his birthday. August twenty-ninth. The sky is blue, there's still grass growing in the little square outside 12 Grimmauld Place, so why is he absolutely dreading tomorrow?

Why his birthday? Why not any other day out of the whole calendar year- even Christmas; Mother has died too and it's not as if he has anywhere to go. He knows he has been lucky so far- only once last November, they haven't wanted Dumbledore suspicious. He conveniently forgot to tell them he is. But why- _why? - _and why this dread? He only has to…has to…well, he knows where he's going and what he might end up doing. They never know what they're expected to do until turning around is far too dangerous. But he doesn't _want _to kill someone. Regulus feels guilty the instant the thought drifts across his mind. He suddenly swears and turns away from the street window. Bellatrix is waiting at the door.

"What?" he snaps. She has always been his favorite cousin, but he's not of a mood right now.

She jerks her head to the left- her left, actually, and thus his right, but he understands. It's a gesture for when no one wants to talk about why forty-odd purebloods have Dark Marks burned into their arms.

"What?" Regulus repeats. "Meeting tonight? Why didn't I know?"

"Not exactly a meeting. More of a grapevine sort of a thing. I think he didn't want to call a meeting for this- it's not exactly major- not exactly the sort of thing he wants going around-"

He sighs and shakes his head. "Just tell me."

"He needs an elf."

"What for?"

"He will have his reasons."

He sighs. "Kreacher?"

"You need to stop caring about an elf so much, Regulus. It's a servant, not a human. Get over it already."

Shrugs. "I'll go tell him." He walks out of the parlor and down to the basement. "Kreacher?"

The elf appears before him, bowing low.

"Master Regulus calls?"

"Yeah, Kreacher. The Dark Lord needs- well, apparently he needs an elf. So I want you to go to him, and- and do whatever he asks, and then to come straight back home. It will be an honor- we must serve the Dark Lord in whatever way possi-" He can't go on. He knows what he is saying is true, he believes it with all his heart- or at least he thinks he does.

"Yes, Master Regulus." Kreacher bows again and with a loud _crack! _Apparates away.

The next night- his birthday, he's finally seventeen!- he leaves the house with his jaw clenched tight against the pain in his arm. Kreacher came back sometime early this morning; he feels slightly guilty that he hasn't had a chance to see what the Dark Lord wanted with an elf. What the hell.

When he gets to the house, all the usual are there...and one face he doesn't recognize, at least not right away. Then he realizes who it is- it's Snape.

They glare at each other across the room. Finally Regulus grows tired of this and walks over to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"I've never seen you at these before."  
"I'm new."

"Aren't you a half-blood?"

"Aren't you the kid brother of the bastard who tried to murder me?"

"I don't have a brother."

"No? Then that's the answer to your question also."

Regulus watches the faces lining the walls, dim faces, nothing real. Fear and worry, wonder and awe, pain and screaming forced down and guilt and denial, and- what's that kid doing here? Regulus doesn't recognize him at first- he has black hair, slightly long but not really, and he's wearing black robes too. The kid almost blends into the wall behind him. He looks like he's trying to melt into the wall, melt away from this place, melt away. The flickering torches are far enough to his left and right that Regulus can barely see the boy, his face is in such deep shadow. He looks terrified, sick; he doesn't seem to belong here at all.

"What's over there?" asks Barty. Regulus allows himself a small smile at the way his friend tends to pop up like a spastic hand puppet, but the smile suddenly flickers away. The kid over on the far wall has smiled as well, and it's just too creepy.

"That kid over there- have you ever seen him there before?"

Barty glances across the room and shakes his head, puzzled. "There's nobody there. What, are you going schizophrenic?"

"No- seriously, don't you see him?"

"Why don't you go over there and take a look for yourself? I'm not sure who he is…but he looks useless to me. Probably some loser who only joined up cos his parents wanted him to…I'll bet he's an absolute coward and he'll desert at the first sign of trouble.

"We'll show him what happens to deserters…."

When business as usual is done, Regulus crosses the room. The kid on the far wall is walking towards him too. He seems terrified that someone else is approaching him, and then Regulus looks into his eyes….

His eyes are dead. There is nothing there, nothing.

And then he realizes he's been looking in a mirror all along.

* * *

A/N: Ok, a few things...sorry it took me so long to update, I had no clue what to write. The next chapter will be up sooner, although I will skip a bit of time. (i.e. about a year or so. I'm hideous at writing weddings and the like, so don't expect one, just assume that the next time you see them in regular text, Regulus and Rocella are married.

I'm going to start randomly making allusions to Christianity. There are 3 in this chapter. If you don't like this, I'm sorry, but I'm Catholic and you're going to have to deal with it.

If you haven't read my Bellacine story (search the name on here) I reccomend you do cos bits of this that are soon to come are INCREDIBLY important for bits of that. 

Decide for yourself if Barty knew Regulus was looking in the mirror...


	8. Chapter 8 Christmas

**He is losing track of how many times he has tipped the goblet into his mouth, or how many times Kreacher has done so, how many times he has not breathed, how fast vinegar is flooding his mouth, how many horrors he has lived through again. The fight against insanity is too much to handle now; he slips back into the dark world of green vinegar. **

**He hates Muggles. Naturally, of course, he has technically never properly met one. But he has tortured a few (and almost enjoyed it), killed a few more, watched a few more than that die. He hates their stupid little autos- don't they know how fast a broom can go? What would it be like to never have that simple exhilaration of flying- ground swooping away, everything right side up and upside down the next moment, a little utopia you control on your own.**

**Regulus hates how much this life has spiraled out of his control.**

**For Dolohov and Karkaroff's sake, he hates their bombs, their atom bombs. For his own sake, he hates them because of what they have done to his family. They have created a Dark Lord like none the world has ever seen, a Dark Lord he serves. And he is the one who could never live since the moment the Dark Mark seared across his arm. Every day he dies again, every night he rises from the dead and kills others- kills himself- again; each morning as a crown of sun, rays of painful light like thorns, pierces black sky and he lays down on a bed and dies.**

**They have taken from him his family. He will never see his own child.**

**They have taken from him his sanity. There are monsters in his mind.**

**They have taken from him his life. He is dying, properly this time, or is this really death? All he knows is that he will never see anything again but green racing towards him, ready to kill. A liquid lake of **_**Avada Kedavra**_** rushes him every time he opens his eyes. **

**Regulus remembers the first time he ever saw the monsters. And insanity is welcome this time, unlike every other time; he refuses to fight the monsters, the Muggles in his mind, Mudbloods and half-bloods and purebloods too, that scream for atonement, treason, betrayal….**

_**They are human monsters, or they look human….Their faces are blank, anonymous and yet so cruel, so cruel. Their hands reach towards him, dragging him forward; they sometimes speak in grating voices, screaming voices, whispering voices, the voices of the ones he has killed or seen killed, they tell him to forget his master and turn away from the light, walk in the darkness of mud and Muggles who can't even use wandlight. **_

_**The Russian is not there yet, although later, he is, after Christmas night. Regulus still hears him screaming, German screams he cannot comprehend, as Dolohov laughs and waves his wand. It is worse when he cannot understand why they scream for mercy as they die. Every time they kill foreigners, little voices ask him, **_**What if their argument was real? What if we killed the wrong man?**

**The first time he saw monsters drowns his mind**

_**It is early October- October 4, 1979. He is married as of yesterday. Outside, it is too late at night- or early in the morning, all the same to him- to tell what the weather will be like, but the first scent of winter taints the crisp autumn air. Rocella lies next to him. Regulus watches her face, her eyelids twitching in a dream. He hopes it is good.**_

_**He tears his gaze away from her, above her. **_

_**Standing in the doorway is a monster. A human monster. It holds a wand on him, its eyes possessed with a killing firelight. He slowly stands, hand moving for his wand on the nightstand. **_

"_**Murderer," croaks the monster. It is so quiet; Regulus suspects he is the only one who can hear it.**_

"_**Get away from here," he says. "Get away from my house. Get away from my mind. You're scaring me." Who says crazy talk like that to a monster?**_

"_**Murderer," the monster croaks again.**_

_**And then behind him, a new voice, this one welcome. "Regulus? What are you doing?" Confused. Quiet, worried. She loves him, thank god.**_

"_**Don't move, Rocella," he whispers. "Don't do anything. It'll kill us both. Just go back to sleep."**_

_**The monster croaks the hated word again. Regulus advances towards it and it towards him.**_

"_**Regulus? Regulus, what are you doing? There's nothing there."**_

"_**Don't you see it? Please," he pleads, "see it. It's there- it'll kill us! It'll kill us all!" His voice rises in volume, enough to mask footsteps on the bedroom floor. Cold hands grip his arms from behind, pulling his mind back.**_

"_**Regulus, there's nothing there. You're having a bad dream." Rocella walks with him back to the bed. "It's only a dream."**_

_**But it is real, his mind protests, and it's not a dream. It's life, dangerous life.**_

"**Master?"**

"**How much more, Kreacher? How much longer?"**

"**Only a few more, Master. Keep going, Master."**

"**Kreacher, please-"**

**The elf looks away and tilts the goblet down his throat. Not so very long to go now.**

* * *

_"Sometimes I wondered how everything would look above those clouds, knowing that the sun was blond, and the atmosphere a giant blue eye."_

_-The Book Thief, Markus Zusak_

* * *

It is Christmas day, their first Christmas together. Or it would have been, until five o'clock that night, when Regulus's arm begins to quietly burn.

At first, he doesn't notice, but slowly the pain increases, until he is forcing himself not to scream. He's determined to have this one Christmas together, uninterrupted, and then he doesn't care if the whole world goes to hell. Rocella comes back to the parlor.

"Happy Christmas," she says quietly, and then, "Regulus- I- I'm- I'm pregnant." Her face breaks into something past a smile. She gazes at him like he isn't a murderer.

"Pregnant?" Regulus whispers hoarsely, trying not to think of dead bodies of children and young mothers, sometimes staring at the white ceiling, sometimes eyes closed. It's easier when their eyes are closed. Right now, this is what he is thinking:

_Oh, shit._

Her face is shining, happily. "Yes. Pregnant, I'm sure. Oh, Regulus!" Rocella laughs and grasps his arms, pulling him into a hug. Grasps his arm- his burning left arm.

Immediately he flinches and pulls his left arm away.

"Regulus-?"

"It hurts. I'm sorry. It hurts, I'm sorry, I can't help it burning. I'll stay home tonight. Just- please- let me alone, and I'll be fine. Don't touch me…."

She shakes her head. It hides the way the joy in her eyes leaps off a cliff and dies. "Go. Just go. I'd rather you went and got it over with than had to sit here with me being happy and the Mark burning like that. Besides, it's only five o'clock; you'll probably be back before nine." Her artificial smile falters. "I know it's Christmas, but we can- we can celebrate on Boxing Day instead, maybe-"

He slowly kisses her goodbye, one final "I love you," and he's out the door into the cold. Today is a white Christmas- in fact, it's snowing right now. Though his destination is completely unknown to him, the Mark on his arm pulls him forward when he Apparates, and he's suddenly on a completely alien commercial street, where it is also snowing, and much, much colder.

Regulus glances about- nobody there- and steps into the shadow of a doorway. Closer to the buildings, the biting wind vanishes, and he shivers. He didn't stop for a coat or anything else, as his wand is in his pocket, and he wants this over as soon as possible. 

Looking about, he realizes the strange lack of festivities- it _is _Christmas after all- and the strange language the shop signs are written in. God, it's not even close to English. 

It's Russian. What the hell is he doing in Russia? What's going on? He would add 'where am I?' to the rapidly growing list of questions in his mind, but that was just answered. Well, sort of. Russia is a big country.

(He knows it's the Soviet Union. Karkaroff and Dolohov still call her Russia.)

A tall, thin man who is much wiser than Regulus- he's wearing an overcoat- is headed down the street towards him. 

"Excuse me, sir, do you know where I am?" he asks, completely forgetting that this man has no reason to speak English and likely has no idea what he's said.

"Doginasara Prospekt," says the man in English, his accent strongly German, and behind that, faintly Russian. Regulus recognizes his face as the man draws closer- Antonin Dolohov. "You're in St. Petersburg-Leningrad, yes? Russia? You see the street sign? Russia, I tell you."

"Er- thank you," says Regulus, desperately wishing he were at home, somewhere warm, Rocella close by- "Where is everyone? I thought on Christmas night there'd be more people about."

Dolohov laughs. It is completely devoid of humour. "Vot did I tell you, Black? Ve're in Russia. Christmas here is seventh of January. It's only another miserably cold December day here- and not that ve haff many left to remember Christmas, either. The Muggle men made sure of that for us."

Regulus frowns. "I thought you were German. Look, let's go wherever we're going. I want to go home as soon as possible."

"The family is Russian, ve've only lived in _Deutschland _since the Great Patriotic Var- the time of Grindelvald," he adds by means of explanation. "Come. Ve need to haff this done quickly, and it's over onIkaratina Prospekt. Follow me." Dolohov strides off quickly and Regulus is left trotting behind his footsteps.

"What- d'we need- to do?" he asks, breath coming short. Half of it is torn away by the wind.

"Someone the Dark Lord vants joined up. Gnedich's the name, Pyotor Nikolayevich. He's pureblood, good man- our sort, you know? Dark Lord's tired of vaiting for him to realize there's something big happening out here. So ve go, meet him, persuade him that joining really is a good thing, for his own safety."

"Okay," says Regulus, relieved. That doesn't sound too hard. Just talk to him, and from the way Dolohov sounds, the only reason this man isn't in already is because he doesn't know what's going on. They stop in front of a little alleyway, where someone is leaning against the corner wall, watching them.

"_Zdravstvuyite, _Antonin," says the man. He is slightly shorter than Dolohov.

"Hello, Pyotor Nikolayevich. Good evening. Look, my friend and I need to talk to you about something very important."

This man Pyotor takes his cue from Dolohov and speaks in English as well. "Vot? I haff to go, preferably now, I can't spend my life vaiting around for you." Strong Russian accent- there is a difference between Russian and German. Like the Rhine and the Volga. 

"How is Marya?"

"Good, _spasibo_, but you know I can't stand about now. If you've something to say, please say it."

"You haff a family, don't you, Pyotor? Good vife, a son, a daughter. You vouldn't vant anything to happen to them, vould you?" Regulus knows this speech before. He's heard it a billion times. Generally, death follows soon after.

"_Nyet_- Antonin, if this is about that, you know vot I said before-"

He's tired of Dolohov dragging things out. All he wants is to go home- for god's sake, Christmas night- "You're a pureblood, same as Mr. Dolohov and I. I'm going to assume that you act like one. But, Mr. Gnedich, there's something farther than just a little bit of _toujours pur_. There's a whole cause, a movement- call it a revolution if you will, and I don't mean the Bolshevik kind. What we want is, well, we want pure blood on top like it used to be and the Muggles ground into the dust where they belong," he concludes. Regulus thinks the Bolshevik line was a nice touch. 

Then Gnedich slowly draws out one word from his lips. "No."

Dolohov says, "Pyotor, think this through. You're being spontaneous; I alvays told you to think things over for vunce in your life before stepping up to the gallows. Ve are Death Eater, ve're not afraid to kill you or anyvun else. Think for a moment. Is your life vorth this?"

Gnedich's hand begins to travel towards a pocket where Regulus knows a wand lies in wait. "It's vorth my self-respect, yes. You too haff a son, Antonin, remember that. Vot does he haff for a father? Vot vill he grow up to be vith you as an example?"

Dolohov whips out his wand with one practiced, extravagant sweep. "Vun last chance. Vun simple vord. Then you valk avay a free man- or you die."

"Saying _da _von't let me valk avay free. I'll be just as much enslaved as you are. Kill me, then," spits Gnedich, and Dolohov raises his wand. Gnedich doesn't really expect to die, it's plain as day. Regulus almost wishes he wasn't here, then suddenly does wish he weren't here. This isn't a matter of whether some foreigner dies- this is something that's regarded as blatant failure in the Dark Lord's book.

His failure. His price to pay.

By now Gnedich has realized precisely how serious Dolohov is. He begins to shout, just like they always do. German screams Regulus cannot comprehend. "_Bitte töten Antonin, bitte mich nicht! __Ich habe eine Familie, Sie weiß das! Ich habe einen Sohn, er bin nur zwei Jahre alt, eine Tochter, sie bin kaum ein Monat alt. Ihre Schwester ist meine Frau, Antonin. __Würden Sie soweit, Ihren Schwager zu ermorden gehen_?"

Dolohov laughs, aims.

"_Bitte_!"

Dolohov regards him carefully for a moment, and then laughs softly as he says, "_Nein. Do svidaniya,_ Pyotor Nikolayevich."

And Dolohov laughs as the body falls into the clutching debris of a dark alleyway somewhere in Leningrad.

"I must go," he says. "Pity it didn't vork. He's good at the Imperius curse."

"Where to?" asks Regulus, hoping very much that Dolohov needs to go home as well, not to report back to their master.

"My sister's house."

"What for?"

"To tell her that her brother is dead."

There is honor among thieves. Among murderers, it is hardly existent.

A/N: Okay, some of that was in Russian and some in German, I hope I didn't confuse anyone. I used altavista babelfish for the translations, if I totally butchered German and you can

tell, I am very sorry, but I can't change it. The whole paragraph of German was essentially a 'please don't kill me' schpeel.

If you read Bellacine you just might want to remember a couple surnames in here. They will crop up later on- actually, they already have. 

Wow, I wrote this in one day. Spring break next week, so the next chapter might be a bit. Huzzah.

The street names are completely random sequences of letters. The Christmas stuff, etc. is all real.

"Any day out of the whole calendar year- even Christmas[..."

Sucks to be you, Regulus...


	9. Chapter 9 Kristallnacht

* * *

**Regulus is close to the edge. A figurative edge. He is so incredibly thirsty that he has forgotten what water is. One last sip- he can almost see a faint glimmer at the end of the tunnel, a faint shining metallic gleam that is also a locket, and not just a light. **

**One final sip.**

**What next, what now, how is he going to die, from poison or water- damn the light, he's going to end up an Inferi, stalking the shadowed hallways of a cave, a cave that's also a mind, every prison every mortal or immortal ever dreamt or created. Poison or water, suicide all tastes the same, better than Russian roulette- not that he ever knew how to play….**

**But isn't this close enough? Coffee tea sugar flour salt arsenic tea salt sugar flour arsenic coffee-**

**Water. Now! Water! **

**Damn the light, Kreacher takes a locket in each hand and takes the transitional step, then his face is dangerously close to the water, somebody screaming, Kreacher horrified, trying to give his master water, afraid to disobey….**

**Only some twisted psycho food chain, Dark Lord Master Servant Regulus Master Servant Kreacher- **

**Water! **

**Water!!**

**WATER!**

_**He's holding a little half-filled glass bottle in the kitchen. It's late May. He's crazy as hell.**_

"_**What's that?" she asks sharply.**_

_**He pulls out the cork. "Nothing." He sets the bottle down on the table and pushes up his sleeve. "Get out, please." Bottle lifted from the table.**_

"_**What's in there?" **_

"_**Acid," he says briefly, and begins to tilt it forwards, liquid almost-perfect-but-not-quite reaching the rim.**_

"_**NO!" She reaches out, knocks the bottle from his hand; it crashes on the floor, acid spilling over the wood. Twisting it. It could have been his arm. But would it have even worked? "Regulus- I know it hurts- you can't- I don't think it would even come off if you tried to burn it off" It burns anyway. What difference does it make?**_

"_**It was nothing," very firmly. "This never happened. You never saw anything. I'm loyal as hell."**_

"_**I know you are." Small, frightened pause. "Of course you are. No one could ever doubt you."**_

"_**Am I a traitor?"**_

_**No, of course not, never, Regulus, you've got to be joking, you, a traitor…. "Of course not."**_

"_**Am I a traitor?" Quieter. Weaker. Dear god, stop lying. **_

"_**No."**_

_**And he finally admits it to himself, three months later. But by then it's well nigh too late and nothing matters anymore.**_

**What is he doing? How can he leave? Traitor, coward, and the last words Barty spoke to him…but it's best not to think about that now, because Barty is his friend, his _friend_, he wouldn't go against him, he understands….Regulus doesn't. He is abandoning his wife, his family, like the traitorous coward he knows he is-**

_**This is no torturous flashback scene but a montage of photographs in his mind, photographs he'd rather leave untouched, but what choice does he have? Choice…he never had a choice….**_

_**Father- he barely remembers Father, but he was the one who taught Regulus how to play chess and backgammon. It hurts less because he barely remembers this man, the man who always spent his time with another black-haired boy….Then comes Mother, just as he remembers her best- a dead body. It's the only time he can think of her without thinking of anyone else, anyone else in the family, and though it makes him feel slightly guilty, he hardly recollects that she loved him too…or did she?**_

_**Bellatrix is insane as always…but so is he, so is everyone, so is the world, so is this. Narcissa, bending over her son, Aldebaran or the other one…what's his name, he has forgotten in all he's been caught up in, but the other one, the little blond-haired one that he said looked like a ferret. Blonde hair. Rocella.**_

**The final sip travels away into oblivion and Regulus is left lying there, eyes wide open, staring at the rocky ceiling of the cave, and then into a blackish-green lake as it stares him in the face…as it draws nearer and nearer…as he sinks into the lake, dead hands clutching, pulling, Kreacher sobbing as he switches the lockets….**

**Water pressing against his mouth, kissing him, begging to be let in….His last free breath is almost gone now…but he won't give in…he can't…to die such an ignoble death as this, no, he can't, but there's no one here to save him….**

**No air. Only dead and water. Water, glorious water that he longed for so much…but he can't force himself to open his mouth…and then Rocella's face swims before his, holding him, telling him it's fine, open your mouth, have a drink…it's only rain, nothing to be afraid of, nothing but water, come at last….**

_**This fever called living is over at last….**_

* * *

'_And then, very slowly, as he walked, he tilted his head back in the rain, for just a few moments, and opened his mouth…'_

_-Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury_

* * *

It's the thirtieth of July, nineteen eighty, a muggy summer night where the night sky seems to weigh a thousand tons and press down on his chest so he can hardly breathe and the stars seem to shine outside the window like a night of broken glass.

It begins, as it so often does, with fire. How he wishes the fire would burn up completely and vanish, and let him alone, and let him be. Rebellious little thought…he quickly banishes it, watches it scuttle away into the corridors of his mind. It'll be back later, as the monsters always are. But now he's half-drunk on sheer hell and knows nothing can be worse than waiting. True, isn't it?

Waiting for him there-, the location of _there_ precisely is perpetually unknown, but something makes him think Scotland- is a pale-skinned, pale-haired man.

Funny thing, that, how there's always someone else, how he's never alone. But maybe they're only sent along as a precautionary measure? Maybe they're only waiting for him to slip up….

Regulus recognizes him. Barty. Ah well, better than someone he doesn't know. Better than most.

"Where to?" The real question, of course, is _'Who are we killing tonight?'_ The intent is understood. And Regulus isn't quite sure he wants to follow through….

"McKinnon. Anna McKinnon, lives on her own as far as I know. No family to speak of anymore." What's happened to him in the few months since Regulus last saw him? How did his eyes turn so hollow, his hair like mouldy hay?

"Right." They set off together up the little one-way street towards her house. "She's in the Order, isn't she? I think I remember her."

Barty nods, once, and ascends the creaky, worn steps. "We go in all wands blazing. This is someone who knows how to fight. It took three men to bring down her sister alone, not to mention that girl's husband." He undoes the lock by magic and they're in.

How stupid could she be?

"I'll search the first floor. You check ground level."

They part, Regulus wandering through the downstairs rooms dimly, unaware of anything. Then there's a shout from upstairs, calm, but terrifying: He can hear the awful chillingly _evil _bloodlust in Barty's voice.

"Regulus, get up here, I've found the bitch."

Up the stairs. Down the hall. Second room on the left. A woman cowering against the far wall; Barty with two wands in his hand, Regulus enters. "I'm here."

"Kill her," he whispers. "Be quick about it. Kill her."

Yet he can't quite force himself to….

"Regulus," Barty hisses, midnight poison. "I told you to kill her. She fights against the Dark Lord. _She deserves to die_."

Regulus whirls about, facing his old friend; shoves his forearm against Barty's hand that holds the two wands. He turns his head to face the woman. "Go now, quickly. Now. Please."

She gasps, pointing to herself. "Me?"

Yes, Anna McKinnon.

"How can I ever-"

"NOW!"

She runs out, footsteps pounding down the stairs; a door slams. Regulus isn't quite sure what he's done, or why. His grip on Barty relaxes; next thing he knows he's flat on the ground with a wand pointed between his eyes.

"You're either very drunk, very high, or both," he says. "Tell me it's one of those. Tell me that much and I'll let you go with only a little warning"

Cruciatus or dying. He'd rather take dying. Anyone would. "Neither."

"TRAITOR!" screams Barty. "TRAITOR! SHE'S IN THE ORDER! THAT LITTLE BLOOD TRAITOR SLUT WORKS AGAINST THE DARK LORD AND YOU JUST LET HER GO FREE! _TRAITOR_!" Then suddenly his face is lit by a manic glow and he seems more insane than ever. Slowly, he steps beside Regulus and stands with one foot on his chest, pinning him to the floor. "Give me one reason."

It's too surreal. Who _says _that outside of the movies?

"Give me one good reason not to kill you, you traitorous filth," he whispers. "Give me a reason." Barty bends down and relieves him of his own wand.

"Rocella," Regulus chokes out, going cross-eyed to keep the wand in his sight.

His face turns black. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! YOU- YOU- WHY, YOU LITTLE BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU DON'T KNOW A SINGLE BLOODY THING ABOUT ANYTHING, DO YOU! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"

"Merlin," Regulus whispers, "what's wrong with you? You've- you've finally cracked, Barty, you- you're mad."

"Mad?" asks Barty, jabbing a finger at himself. "I, mad? I, crazy? You've never been so wrong in your life! But I've forgotten…you're a bloody fool who doesn't know a single thing, aren't you? You're a little piece of traitor scum I ought to kill here and now.

"But I don't think I will, or not for a bit….No, I'll let you live for the time being, and I'll tell you a little story, and we'll see what you make of it- won't we, Black? When that's done perhaps, I'll go talk to the Dark Lord and see what he has to make of it, eh? Regulus Black the traitor, from the family of blood traitors….A coincidence?

"I think not, Black, and now it's time for a little story….."

_

* * *

_

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a fair maiden by the name of Galadriel. She was the most beautiful maiden in the kingdom- her hair was fair, her eyes were like glorious crystals. So, naturally, every knight in the kingdom wanted to win her hand. But she only would speak to two of them, the knight called Quicksilver and a knight from a neighboring kingdom called Samwise Reiner. Sam was the son of the ruler of the nearby kingdom, a kingdom that disagreed with the politics of its neighbor, although Sam did not, and so he left behind his family and his home and traveled to the other kingdom.

_A man called King Saruman, a great leader who promised to bring glory to the kingdom, ruled this kingdom. On their sixteenth birthdays, Quicksilver and Sam entered into his service. _

_Watching Quicksilver take the oath of fealty, Sam was worried by the look in his friend's eyes. For though Sam did not know it at the time, Quicksilver was a turncoat and more beside: he had a sort of aura that caused everyone who looked at him to be blinded by this internal light and think him to be good, though good he was not- far from it, in fact. As the years went on Quicksilver's actions grew more and more suspicious until Sam thought it naught but a miracle that kept the rest of the kingdom from noticing his true nature. _

_Of the Lady Galadriel, the two of them spoke little, and yet much, for whenever they were together, on a quest, or fighting side-by-side it was she, and only she, they thought of. Quicksilver loved her openly, and Sam in his own different way, not speaking or dreaming, but love remaining all the same, however futile and foolish love may be._

_He was correct in his perception of love, for Galadriel was just as fooled by Quicksilver as the rest of Saruman's kingdom was. She married him in two years' time, Sam standing up at their wedding, Quicksilver never knowing or suspecting his best friend saw through him like glass._

_Time passed as time passes, seasons changed, Galadriel now with child and Quicksilver growing darker and darker, more and more dangerous, none of the other knights suspecting. Kings ruled as kings ruled, and in the seventh month Sam and Quicksilver were bade by Saruman to journey on a quest, a great quest to recover the One, a ring of power taken from Saruman's throne and the throne of his ancestors many a year ago. So they set off on their quest, traveling through the wild lands, over hill and dale, through swamp and fen, under mountain and over river, till they came upon the ancient place known as Lorien, where the One had been kept. And all the keepers of the One, the original thieves who stole it from Saruman's throne, had perished but for one. _

_The two knights prepared for battle. In the dead of night, Quicksilver slipped away from their small camp whilst on watch, went to the keeper of the One, and bade the keeper leave Lorien, which the keeper did. _

_Quicksilver gazed upon the One and was at once possessed by its power, the glowing way it spoke of glory, and honour, and authority to whosoever its master may be. _

_Not knowing Sam had woken; Quicksilver reached forwards and took the ring, and ran away into the darkness with it, never more seen by mortal eyes. Sam leapt to his feet, trying to follow his companion into the night, but he could not see._

_So Sam returned home: failed, and afraid, and shocked that Quicksilver- for though he hardly trusted the knight, he still thought he could depend upon him- had turned traitor. And he saw Galadriel, abandoned by her husband, unknowing; for she had no part in any of his dastardly plotting, only saw she that Quicksilver loved her- but no, he loved her not, only pretended and fooled, tricked and lied, and finally abandoned for power and glory that loyalty and valor could bring him not._

_And Sam at long last told her what he had longed to say all his life, that he loved her, he would love her forever and ever, that he would always be loyal and faithful, it was not her fault, she knew not of Quicksilver's cunning lies, to only forget Quicksilver and he would make everything good again-_

_So she did, and he did, and they lived happily ever after- Saruman rewarding his bravest knight, and Galadriel safe with the man who truly loved her, and the poison that was Quicksilver forever gone from the Kingdom. Amen._

He only threw in the 'amen' for good measure. And his wildest dreams stirred violently within his head, but he could not kill something pitiful as this….

* * *

Barty stood. "You deserve to die, Regulus. I think I'll let you live for now…so you can think about what you've done." He leaned against the doorframe.

"My wand," Regulus whispered. "Can I have my wand back?"

He wordlessly threw the wand down beside him.

"Thank you."

"You've just killed the whole bloody world, Quicksilver," snapped Barty, and he swept from the room and the house, the old familiar carol of madness glinting in his eye.

* * *

By the time Regulus understood what he had meant, it was well past midnight. He got up and went home.

It was a great deal of things. It was now the thirty-first of July, and in this, it was the beginning of a great deal of things, though he did not know it at the time.

It was night, the world pressing down on his shoulders, the air thick and humid, and the sky clear. The stars shone outside Grimmauld Place like an endless, haunted, silent night, a night of broken glass.

* * *

A/N: So, there it is, after almost a month- sorry, the weird fairy tale took me a while. Admittedly some of the names are from Lord of the Rings. Deal with it. If you don't get you either will in two chapters or I'll explain at the bottom of the next.

Yes, Regulus is dead, but it's not over yet…thirteen chapters in all- not for any specific reason, but then I looked at that number and started to laugh.

Oh, 'this fever called living is over at last' is from Edgar Allen Poe.

Anyway, I'll put this up now!


	10. Chapter 10 Free

**Spinning floor, spinning ceiling, spinning walls- what's going on? A circular room, the walls a blur, thousands of doors spinning past- rotating- faster, faster, he can't see anything-**

**They stop.**

**There are two doors on the far wall, with a brass handle. No lock. A good sign…or bad? There's a desk, at it sits a black man wearing brown-ish robes. Music is playing, it feels strangely like background music in a film (not that Regulus would have any experience with this sort of thing, of course). He can't quite make out the words….****The black man looks up.**

**"Regulus Arcturus Black?"**

**"Er, yeah, that's me…" Regulus says, and walks over. The man gestures and a chair appears on the other side of his desk. "Excuse me, but who are you?"**

**The man nervously glances at a clipboard on his lap, then over Regulus's head at the two doors. "It is of no importance. Please, Mr. Black, sit down."**

**Regulus obliges.**

**"Drink?"**

**"Er, no thank you. Where am I?"**

**"They all ask that," the man says, a sad smile tugging his face. "Where do you think you are? What is the last thing you remember?"  
He thinks back…a cave, water, poison, light, locket, Kreacher, locket, poison, Rocella…. "Well, there was this cave, I was drinking this…ah, stuff…to- well, because…you know who the Dark Lord is?"**

**"I have known many Dark Lords," the man says. "All of them fall. Even the Great One himself. Even he fell, in the beginning. He will fall in the end, too, or so they say when they bother to visit….Matthias is the only one who ever does, he brings me food from the tables in there." He gestures to the doors. "I think he feels guilty- he was my replacement, you see." **

**"Oh- really?" he asks, utterly confused. "Look, where am I? What's going on? What am I doing here?"**

**"Look at your arm," the man answers calmly. "Look and tell me what has happened to you. I know about your cave. I work for someone who knows all the answers."**

**Regulus draws up his left sleeve- because whenever someone tells you to look at your arm you can bet your life on it it's the Dark Mark- and it's more faded than it's ever been.**

**"You don't want it," the man says gently, "but you took it and you don't want to be rid of it, either. You and I, we both know treason. The ones who leave the Dark to follow the Light, they are immortal. Everyone remembers them, reveres them. But the ones who leave the Light to walk in the Dark, they are traitors. Why is it that the latter are traitors and the first are saved? Are they not just as treasonous?"**

**What the hell?**

**"I don't know what you're talking about," Regulus says; he stands up and pushes away his chair. "I want to get out of here. How do I get out? Which door do I take? Where do I go from here?"**

**"Why, that depends entirely on where you would like to go. And where do you care to go, Mr. Black?"**

**"Er- it doesn't much matter, I suppose." Suddenly he realizes precisely how odd this is, as if he didn't have the cues before. How very odd this all is. How he never expected to wake up after that last sip. How everything has vanished. How much he wants to be home again- last night, with Rocella there and only her- no, the night before that one, before Barty and before Horcruxes and before fairy tales that he has no wish to hear, before doubts begin to seep into his mind….**

**"Then it doesn't matter which door you take," the man whispers. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his face- oh, how long it has been since he has seen anyone smile! "Of course, you may want to know where you are. So you can make a better choice when push comes to shove. Wherever you choose you will remain there for essentially ever, so if I were you, I'd take the better door."**

**Regulus doesn't know where to turn anymore. Where to get off. Where to go. Where he's going.**

**The man sighs. He's done this too many times before, telling them where they are and what to do. He'd like to tell them which door to take, but unfortunately he's not allowed to. Besides, it's different for all of them. Some of them take the door on the left. Some take the door on the right. But everyone always ended up together, in some curious way he does not understand. He's given up on trying to understand.**

**The man's voice seems to come to Regulus from across a great, vast distance:  
"So you're in a room, right? There are two doors- exactly the same, except one leads to heaven and one leads to hell…."**

**So which one do you take? "Which one do I take?" Regulus asks the man, only wanting to not be a traitor anymore and a strong drink and Rocella…and for things to be the way they once were, for Barty to maybe have told him how he'd felt, for the Dark Lord to never exist, for him to never exist, it's all his fault….**

**"Why, that is entirely up to you," he says, and Regulus is more confused than ever. Instead of choosing he settles down to wait, fully aware that time waits for no man- only now he's dead in some psychotic pseudo-waiting room and this man is asking him to choose between heaven and hell, but he can't tell the difference, and all he wants is….**

**What does he want?**

**Does he deserve punishment, for his crimes, or beauty for the one small night when he turned around and fought back? What does he deserve? What is he going to get? And does it even matter anymore? **

**All that matters is that it's over. **

_

* * *

_

"In the end, whether you have followed the Dark Road or the Light does not matter as long as it is done with a clear purpose."

_--Clive Barker, Abarat_

_"I'm free_

_I'm free_

_And freedom tastes of reality"_

_--The Who, I'm Free_

* * *

He enters the dimly lit basement kitchen and starts opening cupboards, looking for a drink. There's a creaking from the cupboard under the sink and Kreacher comes out.

"Does Master Regulus want anything?"

"I'm fine, Kreacher." Regulus glances at him and notices Kreacher's expression is very, very afraid. "Kreacher, what's wrong? Is everything okay? Is- is Rocella all right?"

Kreacher looks up at his master with wide, pale eyes. "Everything is all right, Master….But Kreacher was worried, Kreacher was remembering…Kreacher told Master, about the lake; Kreacher was scared…."

The lake.

Kreacher went to a lake with the Dark Lord…the Dark Lord attempted to harm Kreacher, and why, why, was it for no logical reason—pain is beautiful, causing pain—or did he have something to hide?

Regulus falls into a chair.

"Master--?"

"Get me a drink," he orders, and Kreacher knows where the stronger drinks are kept, and that this is the time.

"Here, Master," Kreacher says, handing him a cold goblet, but Regulus has already stood and now he is walking almost running to the library with Kreacher following behind him, trying to shove the drink into his hand.

He unlocks the door and takes his drink from Kreacher. Then, on second thought, he shoves it back at the elf, and gestures for Kreacher to follow him into the room.

"Now," he says, "I want you to tell me everything you know…."

* * *

He's still cold and clammy with shock. So this, he thinks, this is what it feels like to have everything you thought you knew shown to be false in one fell swoop. So this is how Barty feels.

But Barty is a homicidal maniac (_so am I_) and Barty doesn't feel like normal people. Serial killers don't have feelings: this is fact, proven by the Department of Mysteries. _But I'm a serial killer_. "A serial killer kills more than three people in the same method and feels no remorse."

_But I feel remorse._

_Of course I do. Now. Too late. Too late to bring back all the lives I've sent away into the endless world, too late to turn back, too late to turn around and see my own shadow on the wall behind me._ He turns around and sees his own shadow on the wall behind him. And somehow his shadow is the same, exactly the same, as every shadow of every person he's ever killed or seen killed.

It's still too late, Reg, you fool, he reminds himself silently.

Barty didn't kill him. Barty didn't want to kill him—no, he did want to kill him, but he didn't do it. Friendship? Barty hates him, he said so himself, and this is one line that Regulus really can believe. Because, well, he doesn't exactly know how it feels—but he knows.

And if Barty can do it, so can he.

There's only one way to fix it. He killed, Merlin, how many? Wizards and Muggles and everything in between alike, indiscriminatorily. The blood of one coward can't make up for all of them. Too much blood combined. Too little in his own body.

But his blood, and the water that will fill his lungs, filling his lungs until he dies, now that will be enough. Blood and water and the tears that somebody somewhere has to shed for him and sweat—sweat, he can't think, what sweat—and then he knows, the sweat from his body when he ran or hid or felt his own heart pound like a cannon whenever he killed.

He can fix it.

He can't fix it.

He must.

**

* * *

**

Later, he's not so sure. He was brave enough down in the library, planning his plan (_tomorrow night Kreacher will take me, I'll go, I'll drink, I'll die_) and adding to it with almost every pacing step he takes (_leave something there so the Dark Lord knows—no, not enough that he knows, but that I know—don't let Kreacher tell—they'll think I ran away—I ran away and also ran to the welcoming arms of death—don't let them hurt Rocella—they won't—they will—I can't—I have to--_). But now he's terrified.

Rocella, beside him, sleeps; inside her, something else sleeps. Unless she goes into early labor, he won't ever know what that something is. And what if they kill Rocella—kill both of them, he can't bear the thought.

He whispers her name and she is awake beside him, and there they are, both of them, possibly the only ones awake on this humid summer night.

* * *

"You're back."

"I'll always come back." _Till the one time I don't._

"I know."

Silence.

* * *

"It's going to be a boy."

"You're just saying that. I would know. You just want a boy."

"Who doesn't?"

"You mean, who wants a boy more than a girl? You. Every other pureblood male between the ages of x and y. You're included in that category."

"I am not insulted."

"Of course not. You're you."

Silence.

* * *

"Everyone wants to live forever."

"Not me. Too long. Too—always the same. And what if you didn't?"

_I am already amongst the stars—Zeus himself didn't even have to put me there. I will always be there. I think._ "I would. For you, I would."

"What about yourself?"

Silence.

* * *

"A name. We need a name."

"Mine's Rocella, and yours is Regulus. Black, also. I like that one. It sounds—morbid. But it's nice."

"A name. For it. It's a boy, by the way."

"Liar, liar, robes on fire."

"Oh?"

"Quiet, you."

"Make me."

"Just you wait."

_I don't have forever to wait._ "One for a boy, one for a girl."

"John. Stella. Dull enough for you?"

"Too much. One for a boy, one for a girl. Go on."

"Right, then. Let me think. Dum de dum de…oh yes, we want it from the family tree. Phineas. Nice name. Best name on there. Middle name, middle name, I need a middle name—"

"You mean my name isn't the best name on there?"

"Anyone who names their child after themselves deserves to be hanged."

"Anyone who uses incorrect grammar deserves to be married to the wizard with the most fantastic name on that tapestry, and you know it."

"Middle name, middle name, I'm thinking, I'm trying to come up with a middle name. Oh! Yes. You'll like this one."

"Say it."

"Not telling."

"Rocella."

"Sirius."

"_Meh_—_gah_—what?"

"Hah. One for a girl. If you even try to use your mother's name I will quietly divorce you. Very quietly. But very finally."

"I love you too. Girl's name, girl's name, I can't think of anything." _Because my mind is too full with imagining every second of my death._

"Bellatrix. If we're staying in the family, I like her."

_A killer? I won't have my daughter bear the names of two killers: Bellatrix, Black._ "Kind of. Keep thinking."

"Well, I like the first bit. Bella. Bella. A suffix—ism, -cracy, -ly, -ive, -ion, this sounds so idiotic—"

"Pick a number, one through twenty-six."

"Five."

"E."

"Fourteen. Three. Nine."

"N, C, I. Let's see. NIEC, NICE, NECI, NEIC, NCEI, NCIE, CNEI, CNIE, CENI, CEIN—"

"Sounds Welsh, somehow—"

"Is that a problem?"

"Spell _Cymru_."

"C-U-M-R-Y?"

"C-Y-M-R-U. No Welsh names."

"But if we add an 's' or we stick on a 'p' or a 'b' at the beginning—"

"It would be verch or ferch—"

"Okay, going on, CIEN, which sounds French, like the end of _ancien_, I guess that would be _ancienne_, though,CINE, ECNI—"

"Bella. Bellacine."

"Sounds good. Actually, I like it."

"And if you want you can have a star for the middle name."

Silence.

* * *

The night gradually fades to dawn. He gets up sometime around seven, too much adrenaline to lie in bed any longer. The day passes—some parts quickly, some parts slowly enough that he can press them into his mind like photographs—his heart pounds.

Kreacher is the best actor Regulus has ever seen. Not a word but "Yes, Master."

Damn the clock. Damn the minutes going by. Damn the tolling echoes every fifteen minutes. He storms around, pointing his wand at the grandfather clocks. They fall silent. If anyone tries to tamper with this imposed silence, they'll get a bolt shot at their abdominal cavity. Except Rocella.

Last walk through the house. Last meal. Last time clutching his arm, but this time he's only pretending that his scar sears. He can't bear the thought—but it's the way things must be. Rocella thinks that the Dark Lord is summoning him. Later, she'll think that he died in battle.

_I'm not a hero, I'm a coward._

Last time feeling this unseen living creature kick beneath his hand. Last kiss.

"You're crying."

"I'm not."

Last time slipping out the front door. Last time running down a London street to the safe alley where he can Disapparate.

Last time realizing that he forgot to say _I love you_.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: Sorry for the long silence. And for the screwy formatting. Best I could get.**


End file.
